Down the Rabbit Hole
by cliffwriter
Summary: Sherlock and John are newly married and living a happy life. That is until John begins to have gruesome nightmares about his past. How will the newly weds handle it when John's nightmares begin to invade his reality? Can John keep his sanity? Why is it happening? Find out in my new story! slight AU Johnlock and Mystrade slash. Could be trigger warnings later on of suicide


**New Johnlock I know, but this idea came to me and I have to share. **

John H. Watson always thought himself a strong man. He had always prided himself with his ability to keep a cool head in even the worst situations, but even this was far out of his parameters of control.

From the moment he opened his eyes he knew he was in trouble. It was simply that sixth sense that he was born with, every soldier had it.

He gazed around himself, analyzing every detail, committing it to memory as Sherlock had taught him. There was not much to see though, nothing but empty lands and grey, stormy skies. A tree or two was scattered about the barren landscape, poor, withering things, barely holding on to life.

John glanced down at himself and frowned. He was dressed in his uniform from the army. He felt a sudden weight in his right hand and looked at it, his gun.

Suddenly, there was shouting and screaming from all around. Loud explosions disrupted the quiet landscape, throwing dirt and rock in all directions. John felt a pull from his right and saw a man with no face, dressed the same as he.

The man was screaming at him, saying something, but with the noise and the fact that the mysterious soldier had no mouth, John couldn't tell what he was saying. The soldier was gesturing though, and so John hurried after him. Dodging bullets and explosions as they went.

The two dived into a trench and John had paused to catch his breath, only to have the faceless soldier pulling him along the trench to his left. He followed without a word.

Finally the two came to a wounded soldier, face down in the mud. Blood was pooling around the poor, dying man, and John felt a determination to help this him, or at least ease his pain.

He thanked the soldier, who saluted and ran off. Captain Watson knelt down next to the prone form and turned him carefully over.

John recoiled as if he had been burned. His eyes widened and his hands shook furiously. He swallowed once, twice and a final time to ease his mouth that had suddenly turned as dry as the desert they resided in. Tears welled in his eyes and spilled over his cheeks.

John Watson stared into the dead grey eyes of Sherlock Holmes.

His newly wed husband was dead. There was almost a look of accusation in the empty eyes. Almost blaming John for not getting there soon enough to save the man he loved.

John's mouth shook in absolute horror and both his hands came up to clutch his hair, tearing the blond strands out of the follicles. His mouth opened even further and he screamed.

Long and hard, he screamed himself hoarse. He screamed until his voice was straining and his throat was raw and he screamed more.

There was something shaking him on his shoulder. Someone was calling out to him. He tried to ignore the voice and the hand, but it persisted.

Suddenly his eyes flew open and he sat up with a strangled cry. He gazed frantically around himself and saw he was in Baker Street. The sheets had gathered around his waste and he was in almost total darkness.

"John?" There was a soft, hesitant voice in the darkness, and the hand on his shoulder obviously belonged to the owner of the voice.

John spun, eyes wild with hope and fear to face his husband. The Doctor was hoping beyond hope that it had only been a dream.

Sherlock Holmes stared at John, his own eyes filled with worry. The hand on John's shoulder shook with how tightly he was holding his lover. "John, are you alright?" He asked again hesitantly.

John took a deep, shuddering breath and let it go slowly. He lifted both hands and cupped his husband's face, feeling that Sherlock was indeed alive and not dying in a ditch. John's striking blue eyes stared into the Detective's stormy grey ones and he saw fear there. He had scared Sherlock and John knew he had to help him with those emotions. The ones the self proclaimed Sociopath had difficulty feeling.

So it was with a soft smile and an even softer kiss that John consoled his lover, "I'm alright Sherlock, it was just another dream," he spoke quietly.

Sherlock bit his lip, knowing that it should be who was comforting John and not the other way around, but he had no idea how to.

"Are you sure? Do...Do you want to talk about it?" Sherlock asked, hoping it was the right thing to say.

Indeed it was for John's smile became more pronounced. "I'm fine, Sherlock, promise," he said and kissed the Detective lightly on the forehead.

Though Sherlock didn't totally believe his husband, he let it go. This had to have been the fourth night in a row that Sherlock had to shake John awake from a nightmare. He was beginning to get worried. John wasn't getting the sleep he should and he was beginning to show definite signs of exhaustion. Sherlock fell asleep, however, before he could come up with a suitable plan of action to help his lover.

John, on the other hand, stayed awake and ran his hands through the dark curls of his bed mate. Wondering and wishing the torment would end.

"Dreams, huh?" Greg Lestrade said as he sipped his beer. He and John had become especially close after Sherlock faked his death. He was even Best Man at their wedding when Sherlock returned.

"Yeah I guess you could call them that," John said into his own beer, hoping Lestrade could hear him over the much louder patrons in the bar.

Greg was not one to be fooled though, he lived with Mycroft Holmes for goodness sake. "What kind of dreams are we talking about here?" There was a slight pause where John refused to meet his friend's eye, and Greg gasped with realization. "These are nightmares aren't they?" John nodded. "Nightmares about Sherlock or the War?"

The Doctor took another hefty swig of beer before answering. "Both," he paused, a far away look in his eyes. "Sometimes they mix," he shuddered, "Those are the worst."

"Jeez man, I don't know what to tell you," Greg said with a sympathetic shake of his head.

"Yeah, I know, I've started seeing my psychiatrist again and she says that they'll go away with time," he finished off his beer and rose to leave, leaving a tip on the table, "If you tell Sherlock, I'll kill you," he threatened playfully.

Greg made a show of zippering his mouth shut and throwing away the key, and they both laughed. He too rose and followed his friend out the door. They shook hands and parted ways, John calling a cab and Greg started on his walk to meet with Mycroft at the Diogenes club.

"So Sebby, did you get it to him," Jim asked as he spun around in the office chair like a child.

Sebastien smiled and lit a smoke, "Yeah, it was easy enough and neither know about it. He's already starting to feel the effects. It should just keep getting worse the more he gets."

Jim clapped his hands and jumped up, "Oh goody, I just can't wait to see Shurly's face when he realizes his little pet's lost his mind."


End file.
